


king's keep

by okayantigone



Series: the hollow crown-Riko Lives AU [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AU- Riko lives, Angst, Gen, Kevin and Riko kiss, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Kevin Day/Riko Moriyama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-29
Updated: 2017-06-29
Packaged: 2018-11-21 03:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11349378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayantigone/pseuds/okayantigone
Summary: Kevin knows now. He remembers Riko’s back, covered in symmetrical bruises shaped after the ornate body of an oriental cane. He remembers kissing the tear-smudged number 1, and tasting salt and ink. He remembers Riko’s voice, quiet and terrifying, “When I am King, I’m going to take that cane, and break both his knees with it.”





	king's keep

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very self indulgent "Tetsuji deserved to die" piece, and it also comes with fanart from the lovely kitshunette on tumblr, which you can find http://kitshunette.tumblr.com/post/155203904992/its-a-promise-that-im-keeping-so-none-of-you.

“Ichirou,” he breathes out, begging hopelessly, with his eyes, with the air in his lungs, with his entire body. His brother cups his cheek, and Riko leans into the supple leather of his gloved hand, eyelashes fluttering close, when he feels the cold metal of the gun kissing at his temple. He wants to scream.

And then the gunshot, loud and defeaning tears through his skull, and he collapses on the carpet in a pool of his blood, sightless eyes in the last three seconds of his life when, “Disgraceful,” the master snarls, and –

Riko shoots up in bed, with a sharp gasp of air, fingers digging in the sheets. He runs a hand under the pillow frantically, until he feels the lines of the Browning, comfortable and familiar, and then brush over the smooth surface of his phone. It’s 4:56 in the morning, only four minutes before his alarm would normally go off, and he has two new messages, one from a Raven alumn who lives in Europe, and is in town briefly, asking if Riko wants to get drinks (he does), and one from Ichirou.

He opens it with shaking fingers, the passcode to his phone an old combination to unlock the Edgar Allan stadium, and by the time his screen blinks to life on the messenger app, his breathing is almost normal. His conversations with Ichirou are short and clipped in text as they are in real life.

The letters stare at him from the grey chat butble.

yes.

No caps, but with a decisive little dot at the end. The decision is final. Riko knew it was going to be a good day, from the moment he woke ahead of his alarm. He allows his mouth to assume the familiar lines of his smile, not his media smile, but the one that makes people afraid of him, all teeth, no mirth.

He crawls out of bed and stretches, bare feet sinking into the carpet, and walks into the shower. His mouth tastes like blood less and less these days, a combination of a healthy diet and considerably less stress, and that is a good thing too. He shaves with a straight razor, and doesn’t nick himself, which is another good thing, adding up to a list of things that are good. He will be sleeping very well for a very long time after today. He can feel it.

His feet beat against the rain slick asphalt as he takes the familiar turns of his running path, some type of defeaning EDM nearly blowing his eardrums out, and drowning out the sound of the echoing gunshot that did not happen.

He’s in the gym until sunrise. He looks at the crimson dawn through the mirrored windows of the swimming pool. Even the sky is in raven colors today. It’s late November, the Ravens have had a successful season, his professional team has had a successful season, and something very good is about to happen.

He drinks his morning coffee, while his publicist recites his schedule over the phone to him, and scans the paper titles. Ichirou made front page again, with something vaguely philantropc. Alison Reynolds is on page six. Someone took a snapshot of Kevin and Neil Josten holding hands, and it made the gossip columns. Business as usual.

He texts the Jones back, yeah, he’s up for a drink, he has time this evening, how long are you in town, are you scouting, dumps his unfinished coffee in the sink, and dry swallows his pills.

His good mood holds out through practice. His pro team is made up of mostly ex-Ravens so he has very little to complain in terms of discipline, though of course his uncle might disagree about that. Not that he and Riko see much eye to eye anymore, in matters of exy or otherwise. Tetsuji cannot, and will not swallow the bitter pill that was Riko being reclaimed into the main branch.

He spends his afternoon at the shooting range, firing round after round into the paper targets until he is satisfied.

By the time it gets dark, he’s heading home to get ready for dinner.

By the time he gets home to get dinner ready, it’s dark. Kevin is used to it being dark. You don’t spend over half of your life in the darkness of the Nest, without becoming accustomed to a certain lack of sunlight, but it still irks him somewhat, as he kicks the door closed, toes out of his shoes, and goes to dump the groceries on the counter.

Andrew and Neil aren’t home, though Neil’s let him a note in his atrocious handwriting to let him know they’ve gone for a ride in the Aventador, and will be back later in the evening. For Neil and Andrew it can mean dinnertime, or midnight, or even the early hours of the next morning. He still starts cooking though. He’s sure they live off of takeout whenever he’s out of state, but doesn’t ask for his own sanity’s sake.

He makes sure to always stock their fridge up on groceries, and Tupperware containers, and even though they’re both equally insolent and thankless about it, there’s never any complaints about the food. Kevin takes it as a silent permission to continue invading their space with freshly bought organic produce. He is, however, not going to make the mistake of replacing Andrew’s ice cream with low fat frozen yogurt ever again. It’s a miracle he’s still alive after that little stunt.

Trying to switch their coffee to decaf also backfired spectacularly. He never wants to see that look on Neil’s face again. Betrayal.

He’s sitting on the counter, holding a mug of green tea, and waiting for the oven timer to go off, before he can head out on his evening run, when his phone alerts him to a new message.

Most of his conversation thread with Riko revolves around practice schedules for Court during the off season. The message that blinks at him is a time, and an address that is decidedly not any exy court in the vicinity. But as usual, when Riko calls, Kevin follows.

He gets dressed in the mute darkness of the walk-in closet, where Neil and Andrew have left a few shelves for him, and absent-mindedly brushes his fingers over the queen chess piece on his cheek, reminds himself he’s not afraid of Riko anymore, hasn’t been for a long time.

Some evenings he sits up in bed, remembering the sick sound of Riko’s screams when Andrew broke his arm, and then lays back down, falling asleep with a smile.

The sound of the oven timer makes him jump out of his skin, but it’s alright. He wouldn’t have left the house with it still on anyway. In the underground parking of the building, he heads to the corner occupied by Andrew’s five cars (now missing one), and after a bit of contemplation picks the Maserati. It’s the one he knows best, and he needs the comfort. Meeting Riko off-court isn’t, and never will be, any easier. He calls Neil as he drives, and leaves him a voicemail.

He listens to the voicemail while he drives, and lets his boyfriend – the word sends a thrill through him- his boyfriend’s voice fill the car. Jeremy chatters excitedly abou the season, and about dinner, and about something Laila and Alvarez did early today.

“Oh, I almost forgot Jean, I know you don’t like making food when I’m gone, so I called that restaurant you like, and they do deliveries, so some food should be getting delivered for you later in the evening, you know I thought it might be a good idea,anyway I’m –“

The message cuts off, because Jeremy has gone over the time limit. Jean is smiling in the rear view mirror. Jeremy’s voice, and thoughtless kindness is exactly what he needs after a text from Riko.

In the years since Jean left the Ravens, Riko had directly contacted him exactly three times. Once to remind him that he was still property, once to inform him that he and Jean would be playing together for Court, and once tonight. They did not speak, they did not acknowledge each other beyond the bare minimum in public. Jean stuck to his lane – Jeremy, and their team in LA, and scouting players for USC, and Riko stuck to his – Court, and his adoring fanbase, and Edgar Allan, and the Moriyama’s bloody business.

The three on his cheek had blossomed into a fleur lis, and Riko had barely reacted, his own number 1 having faded long ago into the kanji for victory.

If he was summoning Jean now, it meant something important was happening. Jean loathed to imagine what it might be. He called Kevin as he neared the destination, an upscale closed living complex, the kind that offered security and isolation.

“You don’t happen to know what this is about?” he begins without greeting. His and Kevin’s relationship had soured over the years, as Jean more and more, looking back on his time at the Nest, remembered Kevin’s stony silence, and turned back in the face of Riko’s violence against Jean, and those memories gave way to bitterness.

“No,” Kevin said. “Do you?”

“You talk to him more than I do.” Jean said, not keeping the bitterness out of his voice, and hung up.

Kevin pulled into the parking lot, parallel parking smoothly between two other shiny cars. He recognized Riko’s silhouette in the dim lights, leaning against the trunk of his Viper, hands shoved in the pockets of his cashmere coat, looking at the exit towards the building.

“Hello Kevin. It’s been a while,” he acknowledges, voice smooth.

“Evening Riko,” Kevin greets smoothly. “I want to start this by letting you know Neil and Andrew know where I am.”

“Oh,” says Riko, and his smile, turned to Kevin is poison he remembers well. “Well, that’s nice, isn’t it. My brother knows where I am too.”

The implication is clear. This is Moriyama business.

“Not interested in playing catch up?” Riko asks, when the silence between them stretches.

“Not with you,” Kevin says sourly.

“Pity. Maybe you and Jean can have a drink after this. Discuss domesticity.”

“Don’t be jealous, just because we both know how worthless and unlovable you are on a good day,” Kevin says quietly. Neil has rubbed off on him in a major bad way, and the momentary look of startled pain on Riko’s face is gratifying enough to justify any response.

“It does seem that owners start resembling their dogs after a fashion,” Riko says savagely.

“Pity none of Jean’s good qualities ever rubbed off on you,” Kevin says, equally venomous. He doesn’t include himself in the same sentence as Jean. He knows he has no right to. The implication that Andrew and Neil are his dogs, he does not address. Not when he spent years using Andrew as a leashed monster to spring on his enemies. Riko would only call him out on the hypocrisy of it.

He’s spared Riko’s response when Jean parks beside him. His car is less flashy, though just as expensive as their sports extravaganzas. Jean’s car is practical. Nice.

“What is this about?” are the first words out of Jean’s mouth when he climbs out. Unlike Kevin and Riko, who’ve dressed up, he’s wearing ripped jeans and a Trojans hoodie, but his boots are made for kicking people’s faces in.

“Moreau,” Riko says, inclining his head regally.

“Riko,” Jean say his name like it’s filthy. “Why did you call us here?”

Riko’s smile is so sharp full of violence, it makes him flinch.

“Something I’ve been working on for a while,” Riko says. Jean feels like he’s choking on silk. “It’s a promise that I’m keeping. So none of you can say that I’ve ever told you a lie.”

He pushes himself off the car, and checks the time on his phone. He pops the trunk of the Viper open, and pulls out three Raven branded raquets.

“Catch.”

He tosses one to Kevin. His left hand goes in the air automatically, and grabs it in the air. Jean does too.

“Between two strikers and one backliner, how long do you think this will take?” he asks. “Because I’m meeting Jameson from the ’08 lineup for drinks at the Plaza later. I don’t want to be late.”

“How long will what take?” Kevin asks, but Jean already knows. He feels bile rising in his throat.

“No.” he says, like it matters.

“Don’t be slow now, Kevin,” Riko says acerbically. “I’ve kept all my promises to you. Rumor is you find that attractive in a man. Or does it just apply to An -”

“Keep his name out of your filthy mouth, or I’ll break your other arm too,” Kevin warns, borrowing almost word for word the promise Jean made him, the first time Kevin tried to contact him after his transfer.

Keep my fucking name out of your filthy mouth, Day, or I’ll break out other hand too.

 

Riko shrugs, conceding, considering it not worth it.

The lights in the building’s entry come on. Riko’s smile is so ugly and distorted, baring all his teeth.

Kevin hates looking at his mouth like that. Wants to cover it up, either punch it or kiss it, or both in no particular order.

He recognizes the silhouette of the man that’s coming out into the parking lot and his stomach lurches. Their cars, he realizes, are parked in such a way that someone coming from the building wouldn’t see them until they get right in between them.

Riko walks confidently in front, twirling his raquet cheerfully. Kevin wonders if he’s on his meds, and if so, what he’s on. Or if he’s decided to be sober for this.

Tetsuji Moriyama has taken his disgrace and subsequenc exile well. He looks every bit as terrifying and imposing as Riko remembers him, cane in one hand, and violence in the other. The cane Riko remembers well. The other things, he’s learned by heart, and then tried to forget.

“Riko –“ Tetsuji says, but does not stop walking.

“Hello, master,” Riko says, and slams his raquet in the older man’s stomach as hard as he can, forcing him to double over. “Kneel,” he says mockingly.

Kevin figures it out. Jean looks away.

Riko lands another brutal hit, and Tetsuji’s knees hit the concrete. He is still grasping at his cane, until Riko kicks it out of his hand, and steps on it, hard. Bones crunch.

Kevin feels adrenaline thumping in his veins. Something satisfying, warm and bitter spreads in his chest. What Riko did to him, is now happening to Tetsuji. And while the master is gasping in agony, Riko bends over, to pick his cane up, measuring its weight in his hand, as though he isn’t intimately familiar with its weight on every other part of his body.

“Have you figured out now?” Jean asks, voice thick with hate and disgust.

Riko turns to Kevin, smiling that terrible smile from the Nest.

“Come on Jean.” Riko taunts. “I know you want to land a hit.”

“Fuck you,” Jean says, but walks over despite himself.

“Mind your manners. We’re in the presence of the elderly, after all,” Riko says. “Things kept alive much longer than they should have, if you ask me.” he adds distastefully.

Jean raises his raquet.

Kevin flinches at the sound of wood making contact with flesh.

“Careful not to knock him out,” Riko warns. “I want him awake for this.”

It’s such an ugly echo of the Nest, Jean feels himself breathless with panic. He throws the rackquet to the ground.

“No,” he repeats his earlier words, resolutely. “Fuck you. No. I’m not doing this. This isn’t who I am anymore.”

He points to Tetsuji. “You can do this on your own.”

Riko gives him a thin ironic smile. “As you please.” he says. “Do you want to watch?”

“No,” Jean says quietly. “I don’t want anything of yours. This isn’t a promise you’ve made to me. You never promised me anything.”

He turns his back to them, walks past Kevin and gets in his car. The engine roars to life. He calls Jeremy as he drives away, to ask if he wants to Skype when Jean gets his delivery.

“Well,” Riko says mildly, “It shouldn’t take too long when it’s just us too either.”

The kick he gives Tetsuji’s ribs is almost lazy.

Kevin’s knuckles are white with how hard he grips the rackquet.

In the lights of the lamps Riko is a pale terrible creature with too many teeth, and his eyes are dark bottomless holes.

“You can leave, if you want,” He kneels beside Tetsuji, and grabs his face, forcing him to look into Riko’s eyes.

“Me and uncle can resolve this privately, isn’t that right, uncle?” Kevin takes a step forward.

“Do you remember our private meetings in your office?” Riko asks quietly, digging his fingers into Tetsuji’s jaw. “I do.”

Kevin does too. He remembers Riko’s back, covered in symmetrical bruises shaped after the ornate body of an oriental cane. He remembers kissing the tear-smudged number 1, and tasting salt and ink. He remembers Riko’s voice, quiet and terrifying, “When I am King, I’m going to take that cane, and break both his knees with it.”

He hadn’t realized it was a promise then.

“Ichirou can’t have allowed this –“ Tetsuji speacks. Riko backhands him, looking bored.

“Ichirou was getting tired of your attitude long before I was,” he says evenly. “And there’s no use of you anymore.”

“Riko –“ Tetsuji says.

“I hope you aren’t about to beg me for mercy,” Riko advises. “I remember everything you taught me.”

Kevin is standing directly over him now. This is the Riko he remembers. Quiet, ruthless and smiling.

“Kevin,” Tetsuji says.

“No,” Riko hits him again. “You don’t look at him. You look at me. His mother is dead because of you.”

Kevin flinches. Riko had imparted on him that little bit of truth some years ago, and Kevin had added it to the funeral pyre in his heart.

“I could have been kind to you, if you had been any less of a disappointment.” Tetsuji says.

Riko stands up, and Kicks him in the stomach.

“From where I’m standing, some of us turned out just fine,” he says cheerfully. He kicks Tetsuji again, forcing him on his side, and then on his back.

Kevin follows with hollow eyes. Riko raises the cane, and brings it down on Tetsuji’s knee.

“Do correct me if I’m not getting the right places. I’m just going by memory.”

Kevin can only look a little longer. He walks around Riko to stand on Tetsuji’s other side.

“I’m going to make this as terrible as I know how,” he says quietly. “I learned at your feet.”

He raises his rackquet.

Riko carefully wipes his gloves off the blood, and stuffs them in his pocket.

“I might have to speed a little to make it to the Plaza. Do you want to come with?”

Kevin is straightening out his clothes, making sure that no blood got on him.

“No. I want to be home when Andrew and Neil get there.”

“That’s fair.”

“Riko.“

“Yes?”

Kevin looks at the graceful lines of his face, and his cruel beautiful mouth, and his changed tattoo, and remembers, all at once, how much he loved that face once, and that mouth, and those hands who left him bruised and breathless. He tries to remember the times in his life before Riko, and comes up empty. He tries to imagine a life without Riko, and comes up empty.

“Are you okay?” he asks finally.

Riko’s eyes and smile are hollow.

“I’ve had a good day,” he says. “I’m okay.”

Riko, Kevin had asked, the dreadful night the ERC poked their heads into the Ravens’ business. Are you okay?

Riko, at his most unhinged, had been all teeth.

“I’ve switched medication now. It’s making me quiet.”

Kevin doesn’t know if quiet is good or bad. Maybe both. He only knows the site of violent hate and rebellion when it comes to being medicated. Riko had embraced the pills that controlled his violence.

“Good.” Kevin says. He searches for other words. They used to not need any, because they understood each other. That was before, when they were two parts of one thing. Riko-and-Kevin.

Now they are not.

He leans on an impulse, and kisses him. Riko’s startles flinch melts into hands digging into Kevin’s shoulders and hair, and a kiss back so hard it might bruise. Tetsuji’s body is cooling in a pool of blood at their feet.

Kevin remembers the cane, the first time he pressed his lips to Riko’s when they were thirteen. This was not allowed.

Riko pulls back to breathe, puts his hands on Kevin’s chest, and pushes away.

His smile is less teeth. Is a quiet qisquieting thing. Is the smile Kevin got from him, always, that purel childish thing of beauty, that had been eclipsed in the Nest. He remembers a time when he would have done anything to earn it.

“You’ll be late,” he tells Riko, where it used to be We’ll be late.

He steps back. He looks at the blood.

“I’m going home.” where it used to be, We, and never home.

“Have a god evening Kevin.”

Riko watches the elegant lines of Kevin’s body disappear into the Maserati, and stays quietly in the dark. The light overhead flickers. He breathes in, out.

“It was always going to be just us two,” he tells Tetsuji conversationally. “I guess I’ve just always been better than you. Kayleigh Day. Honestly, what were you thinking?”

He climbs into the Viper, sends a text to apologize for his lateness, and leaves the bloody mess behind.


End file.
